Thoughts
by mybluesubmarine
Summary: Post Breaking Dawn. A small, simple one-shot featuring Jacob Black. Three weeks after the incident with the Volturi, Jacob is dwelling on what defines a werewolf, as well as some of the other aspects in his life. Jacob's POV. R


One day, the thought just struck me and I decided to write in down, in Jacob's POV. I know it's really short, and probably a bit out of character, and I apologize for that. Otherwise, R&R if you would would please. I'd really appreciate some feedback.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, because I can't come up with anything as brilliant as 'Twilight'. All characters mentioned belong to the incredibly gifted writer, Stephanie Meyer. The definition came from .com  
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**'werewolf \ˈwɪəˌwʊlf ˈwɛə-\ _n_ _pl_ ****–_wolves_ **

**[Old English _werewulf,_ from _wer_ man + _wulf_ wolf; related to Old High German _werwolf,_ Middle Dutch _weerwolf_] a person fabled in folklore and superstition to have been changed into a wolf by being bewitched or said to be able to assume the form of a wolf at will: LYCANTHROPE'**

I stared at the page for a few more seconds, lingering on the last line. In all honesty, I had never really been one for reading dictionaries, but something had been really bugging me lately. Three weeks had passed since the almost battle with the Volturi and in those past three weeks I'd spent most of my time trying to absorb the fact that I wasn't a real werewolf—only a '_shape-shifter_', as the leader of that _revolting_ group had put it.

It was Edward who had first pointed it out, not that I should be surprised. He had a way of keeping things to himself, and then sort of throwing them out in the open when least expected. It was one of my least favorite qualities of my future father-in-law.

I winced a little bit. The thought still struck me as odd, as it did everyone. I did love Renesmee, no question, but it still tugged at me—the thought of being with Bella's child, and someday being related to someone who I had _despised_ and having to think of him in that context.

See, though we no longer had to be at odds, our relationship would be rocky for the first few seasons. There was no changing that, and it was him who had shaken the very foundations of my mind. It was difficult enough the first time, discovering I wasn't actually human, that I was something else entirely different, but now discovering that even _that _wasn't true. It's like growing up in a warm and loving home, with your mother and father, and then one day discovering they weren't your real parents. They just kidnapped you in a grocery store when you were like two-years-old so naturally you wouldn't remember, and then raised you as their own. It's overwhelming. It makes you think about things more in depth.

Although I wasn't in that _exact _scenario, I still had a lot to think about. What did this mean that I wasn't a werewolf? Was I a human? Was I what you'd call a humanoid? Or was I simply something altogether different that hadn't been given a proper name yet? At this point, anything was possible.

And why couldn't I be a real werewolf, like in all the folktales and legends? I mean, I fit the basic description of the average werewolf _perfectly_, and the dictionary didn't seem to contradict me either. Besides, wasn't it the humans who had come up with all that stuff about the full moon and stealing babies, and that silver could kill a werewolf? I mean, come on—who comes up with that sort of nonsense? And why silver? Why not gold or brass? It was silly.

Who was to say then, that I wasn't a real werewolf? Edward Cullen's no Dracula. He isn't anything like the old myths. The Cullens don't sleep in coffins, or turn into bats; garlic has no affect on them—except for the smell maybe—and I'm pretty sure you can't kill them by putting a wooden stake through their heart (and it would have to be a _wooden _stake mind you, not metal or stone—wood. It's complete nonsense).

Of course by that logic, that meant they weren't real vampires. Of course, they could just simply be a variation of a vampire, like a sub-race or something, and then maybe like them, I was only a variation of a werewolf. What was so bad about being a werewolf anyways? Throughout history, the general hatred between the vampires and the lycans had really clouded what the basic guidelines were for each race, so who's to say what makes a vampire or a werewolf?

But I guess we'll never really know.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and a flash of vibrant copper curls. I smiled and closed the dictionary, setting it on the small glass table in front of me. Logic could wait for a little while. What did it matter anyways? I had Nessie, a family, and like Peter Pan I would never ever grow up. I couldn't ask for anything more, not that I would need anything else in the first place.

Still, as I made my way to the door, my brain lingered on the ongoing debate. Most likely I would never solve it, and I really should just drop it now lest it yields to some kind of creepy obsession.

But, ya know, you just can't help but wonder…


End file.
